


Fruit but not wine

by Stxtic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Scars, Trans Character, Trans Dean Winchester, top surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28451346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stxtic/pseuds/Stxtic
Summary: Out of all the scars Cas has healed Dean wonders why he overlooked these.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 71





	Fruit but not wine

“Y’know, I gotta wonder why you never got rid of these,” Dean murmured vaguely in Cas’ direction as he padded out of the bathroom. He was scrubbing at his hair with a tiny washcloth, a pair of boxers slung low around his hips and his bath towel draped around his neck to fall down over his chest.

“Hm.” The angel looked up, and Dean tapped one finger to his chest through the towel.

Cas stood. “What? Why.” he croaked, sounding almost indignant.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know, man, I figure, you healed most of my other scars when you dragged my ass up from the pit. Might as well take care of these two big ugly sons of bitches too.”

Cas scowled deeply, opened his mouth, then closed it and fixed Dean with that stare of his that felt tangible. “They’re not-” he started, and then squinted and shifted closer to Dean just slightly. “I thought- I didn’t think you would want them gone.”

“Why not?”

Cas stepped all the way forward now, and Dean froze. The angel raised a hand, hovered it over Dean’s towel and stopped. When Dean made no objection Cas pushed the towel down along the slope of his shoulder. Half of one scar was visible now, a faded, ragged pinkish line that curved up to meet Dean’s breastbone.

Cas’ eyes narrowed, and he brought his left hand from Dean’s shoulder toward his chest for a moment, and then dropped it. His voice dropped to a flat, focused rattle. “Scars can be considered personally and ritually significant in many human cultures, they can be seen as a sign of strength, yours are placed symmetrically which is generally considered a fundamental aesthetic quality, they-“

“Cas,” Dean chuckled, cutting him off. “Look, I don’t know why you’re buttering me up, it’s sweet but you don’t gotta sugarcoat it. They’re just scars.”

“I’m not using any kind of confectionery ingredients, Dean,” Cas intoned. “I just. Wasn’t aware that you would want them gone. I suppose if you preferred it I could try to heal them-“ He reached up with his left hand again, the right finding its mark on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean said “Whoa, wait,” and caught his hand just as his fingers brushed Dean’s skin. Cas froze, eyes wide.

“I wasn’t going to do it  _ now _ .”

There was a moment of weighted silence. Dean swallowed dryly, realizing how close Cas was. Standing like this they were practically slow dancing. After a moment, he let go of his hand, and Cas reached forward to brush his fingertips along the centerline of the scar.

“They’re-“ he began, and then paused and seemed to search for words before landing on, “A part of you. I wouldn’t have taken them without you explicitly asking. Then I might as well have taken your freckles, or your eyes- well, not your eyes, I suppose taking away your sensory organs would have been a bit more-“ he stopped, suddenly seeming to realize the absurdity of what he was rambling about. “Well. They just seemed like something I shouldn’t interfere with. Something greater than my mission.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Greater than-?” He laughed incredulously. “You were pulling me up from hell, dude.”

“And you were reforming the vessel God gave you.” His voice was low now, and his hand was flat against Dean’s ribcage, thumb tracing the length of his right scar. “Taking creation into your own hands. It’s-“ he hesitated for a moment, his right hand flexing over the handprint on Dean’s shoulder, and then finished in nearly a whisper. “...almost divine.”

Dean stared at Cas, eyebrows travelling toward his hairline and mouth snapping shut. There it was again, that uncertain silence that hung in the ever narrowing space between them. Dean shifted and cast his eyes down toward Cas’ hands. Cas’ gaze drifted between Dean’s chest and his eyes, and his fingers twitched against Dean’s ribs.

“Cas-”

"Dinner," Sam chirped, barreling through the door, and Dean might have thought someone had just hit a blood sigil with the speed that Cas vaulted out of his personal space. The sudden absence of his touch was tangible, and the cold air prickled against Dean's scars. He spun to face his brother and swallowed the whiplash as he shrugged his towel back into place.

"Burgers," Sam dropped the bag on the table. "And they didn't have any regular pie so I got you one of those crappy little tiny ones- come on, put some clothes on, dude."

"No such thing as a crappy pie, Sammy," Dean replied, absently rubbing his right palm against his marked shoulder. "And I am, I just got out of the shower."

"You were finishing your shower when I left. What have you been doing, just standing around here half dressed?"

Dean's eyes shifted to Cas for a split second. The angel opened his mouth and then wisely closed it.

Sam's gaze flew between the two of them. "You know what? I don't want to know." He headed toward the bathroom. “I swear, if you used all the hot water, Dean...” he murmured, voice fading as he shut the door.

Dean stared after him for a long moment and then turned to Cas, who was making intense eye contact with the bedspread. He sighed before walking over to his own bed.

He sat and flopped backward, letting out a drawn out breath. One hand came up to rest over the smooth, flat curve of his chest. He stared at the ceiling and willed the strange waves of energy ebbing over his body to quiet. 

“Dean,” came Cas’ voice from the other bed, and Dean let his head fall to the side, bringing just the edge of Cas into view.

“Hm.”

“If I misinterpreted things I apologize-”

“No,” he interrupted. “No, Cas, it’s fine.” He traced the rough edge of one scar and faintly sighed. “There’s nothing you should have done differently.”


End file.
